


Hollow Love

by Athenais_Penelope_Clemence



Series: Anne Boleyn AUs [1]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Doomed Relationship, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Passion, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence/pseuds/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU to S2E18, the episode “Lady in Waiting”. Anne Boleyn finds Henry kissing with Jane Seymour, but her shock and grief do not lead to a miscarriage. In due time, she gives birth to a healthy son. Yet, the happiness she once yearned to have as Henry’s wife and queen is illusive. Henry’s love leaves her hollow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow Love

**Author's Note:**

> In this sad and realistic AU, Anne doesn’t die in childbirth and is not beheaded after being falsely accused of incest, adultery, and high treason. Instead, she suddenly discovers that it was not enough to give Henry a healthy son to keep his attention focused only on her. This story is about the evolution of Anne’s feelings for him as she sees Henry in a new light, watches him lavishing his affection on other women, and eventually comes to a horrible conclusion about her relationship with Henry and her own feelings for her husband. I believe that it could have happened if Anne had given Henry a son and remained the Queen of England.
> 
> I am not a passionate Anne/Henry shipper in life because I don’t like Henry's cruel and ruthless nature. In my opinion, Anne Boleyn and Henry Tudor are a doomed match, so I can imagine them having only a bittersweet ending if Anne survives, like it happens in this AU. I think that Anne and Henry can be also shipped in death or in tragedy. I cannot see Anne happy in her marriage to Henry in the long run.  
> The information about the elevation of the Seymour family is historically correct.
> 
> Undoubtedly, I don't own any characters and the Tudors show.
> 
> All reviews are appreciated. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

  **Hollow Love**

It was well into the late hours of the summer night when Queen Anne Boleyn of England was sauntering down the hallway at Whitehall Palace. The guards bowed to Anne, astonishment written across their features, as it was unusual to see the Queen of England without her ladies-in-waiting and at such a late hour. Anne’s footsteps were almost silent as she walked through a long, empty corridor illuminated by several burning torches which hung along the walls. Soon she reached King Henry’s quarters.

Anne didn’t care that it was past midnight, and that it was strange even for a queen to visit her royal husband so late without a summons. She urgently needed to discuss with Henry the future of their daughter, Elizabeth, because very soon they would travel to France to negotiate her betrothal to Prince Charles de Valois. Two years ago, King François I of France had rejected Elizabeth as a match for his youngest son, but now he was ready to reconsider. Anne and Henry had to plan everything in advance, including their joint speech for François and what overtures of friendship they would make.

She ambled through the corridors with an air of remarkable confidence about her, holding her head high, her expression both haughty and determined. She hoped that Henry was alone at that late hour, without one of his mistresses who he often took to bed even after the birth of William Tudor, the Prince of Wales and the heir to the English throne. Although she had almost suffered a miscarriage after experiencing an extreme distress from seeing Henry’s adulterous kiss with Lady Jane Seymour, Anne had carried the child to term against all odds. About two months ago, the queen had given birth to a healthy son, and she had expected that Henry would love her as much as he had felt for her before, but she had been grievously mistaken.

Henry continued courting the Seymour wench, although Anne secured her position of Queen of England. Instead of sending her away from court, the king had taken the sweet and virtuous Jane into his bed. Jane became the king’s mistress after playing with Henry’s lustful affection for months while saying that her honor and maidenhead were more precious to her than anything else. Anne suspected that Thomas and Edward Seymour had encouraged Jane to become the king’s lover after William’s birth: Jane had lost her chance to replace Anne as queen, but they could accumulate power and elevate their family’s status in another way.

Anne was unhappy with Henry’s actions, but she no longer threw tantrums of jealousy and voiced her protests against his liaisons. Henry had been tiring of her before William’s birth, and it had been possible that she would have been not only discarded, but perhaps executed if Henry had decided to get rid of his unwanted wife. Anne realized that she had to change her behavior after coming too close to losing her head, and she would not make the same mistake again.

The queen stopped near the heavy oak door to the king’s chambers. Two guards stared at her in amazement, not knowing how to act. The king enjoined not to be disturbed because he was spending the night with Jane Seymour. They bowed to Anne but didn’t allow her to enter.

Anne raised a quizzical brow at the two men, but then she smiled at the realization that Henry was not alone. Ire boiled in her blood, and she imagined a pool of red blood – Henry’s blood. All of a suddenly, she hated Henry with her entire being. She wanted to barge into the chamber, grab her husband’s sword, and kill Jane and Henry in the royal bed.

“Move aside,” commanded the queen, barely concealed rage quivering in her firm voice.

The queen’s countenance was so incensed that two guards stepped aside, again bowing to Anne. Everyone knew that Anne Boleyn was a dangerous, cunning woman who could destroy everyone and everything if it suited her own purposes or served the interests of her family and her children. Fearing an outburst of Anne’s anger, the guards let her in and endeavored to not think of the consequences of the queen catching the king with his mistress.

Anne opened the door and entered the king’s bedchamber. Moving as noiselessly and quickly as a panther, she crossed the room, her eyes searching for Henry. It was not dark inside as candles burned brilliantly in several candelabrums, the light casting an eerie, shimmering glow on the richly furnished interior. As she trained her gaze on a distant alcove, she saw two bodies on a large, canopied, mahogany bed covered in magenta rose tapestries. Her heart nearly collapsed in her chest at the thought that Henry and Jane were sleeping after their lovemaking.

Anne’s pregnancy with William had been a difficult and risky one. She had been put on bed rest until the birth of the child since her almost miscarriage; at that time, she had been only four months along in her pregnancy. The labor had been long and painful, with some complications, and Anne had barely survived the dreadful childbirth. But her reward had been her dear son, the golden prince who would rule England after Henry as King William III of England.

Doctor Linacre strictly prohibited Queen Anne from performing her marital duties for at least six months after William’s birth. Anne didn’t protest, knowing that she would have risked her life if she had swiftly conceived another child. Henry was unhappy about the prohibition, but he didn’t want to risk Anne’s health either. The king assumed that now he would just exercise his right to take a mistress because Anne could not have intimacy with him.

Now Anne was peering at the entwined bodies of Henry and the pale Seymour wench. She could not understand what Henry found in this undereducated country mouse, although the whore was not as naïve as she pretended to be. In contrast to Jane, Anne was an epitome of grace, charm, elegance, wit, and intelligence; she was impeccably educated and well learned in the arts. Anne had once thought that Henry was attracted to both intelligence and beauty in women, but now she believed that he lusted after any pretty creature and was in the perpetual quest for loving as many women as he could.

Anne took several steps forward and paused in the middle. Jane was sleeping peacefully in Henry’s arms, and a bile rose in Anne’s throat, but she clamped down the urge to vomit. She glanced around and noticed clothes on the floor which the lovers had hastily removed. It was difficult to believe that Anne was now looking at the man who had once torn the kingdom apart and fought against the pope, Catherine of Aragon, and the whole world to marry her. Henry no longer was the man who had pledged to love her forever and promised that they children would preside over empires. The old Henry was dead; he disappeared in the haze of Lethe.

Anne wished to run away from the horror of beholding her husband’s moral plight. In the next moment, a loud groan escaped Henry’s lips, and then Anne heard the rustling of sheets, understanding that Henry had woken up and begun to climb out of the bed. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that in a handful of moments, he would discover her presence.

“Anne,” whispered Henry in a voice laced with astonishment.

Anne swiveled, and her deep blue eyes met Henry’s aquamarine eyes. The king wore a black velvet robe that clung to his body so tightly that she guessed that he was naked beneath his night clothing. His features evolved into displeasure, and he cursed under his breath.

She smirked. “How are you, husband?”

Henry cast an anxious glance at Jane, but his mistress was sleeping peacefully. Fearing that they would wake Jane, he stalked towards Anne, gripped her forearm, and almost dragged her away from the bedroom into the adjacent antechamber. He released his wife only after closing the door, making sure that neither Jane nor anyone else would be able to overhear them.

As he stood next to Anne, his handsome face contorted in rising anger. “Why have you come, Anne?” he asked, notes of impatience and fury leaking into his voice.

Anne managed a fake smile. “Am I not allowed to see my husband?”

Henry huffed in annoyance. “I am your king and only then your husband. If I didn’t visit you in your suite tonight, it means that I was busy.”

The king had long stopped treating Anne as a woman for whom he had once professed an undying love. Anne asked herself whether Henry really disliked her so much that he could not even look at her kindly. For several years, Anne had been trying to be a good wife to him and a dignified queen. When it seemed that her time as a queen had been nearing its end, when she had been a fading star in the constellation of some deity of loneliness and grief, she had saved the Boleyns by giving Henry a male heir. But it changed nothing because Henry was not as devoted to her as he had once been. Now she doubted that he would ever love her again.

Henry’s behavior enraged Anne, and she resisted the impulse to punch him in the face. “Were you busy with your lover, my darling husband?” she taunted.

The king was delighted that the queen forcefully curbed her jealousy after William’s birth. In the past months, he was gladly spending night after night with Jane who he had fallen in love with while Anne had been carrying their son. If Anne had failed the king, he would have set her aside and annulled their marriage. But Anne fulfilled her promise, and now William Tudor was the Prince of Wales while Henry was stuck with her until his dying day. But he didn’t plan to be faithful to Anne, and part of him regretted that he could not wed Jane and make her his consort.

His eyes flashed with a fierce light as Henry ground out, “Madame, you are only my queen. I am the King of England, and it is my right to have as many mistresses as I want.”

Anne shot him a contemptuous glance. “I haven’t forgotten that you are the king, my lord and husband. But you have forgotten about your husbandly duties.”

Henry glared at Anne, the woman whom he had fallen in love with years ago. Anne was a very beautiful and charming creature who enthralled him like some mythical creature. At the sight of her glowing eyes, hooks to her soul, and her mysterious smile, his heart thumped like a drum, and every nerve in his body jangled with need of her. She looked too seductive in her cream silk nightgown and matching robe with a deep V–cut neckline trimmed with diamonds. And she looked especially tempting in anger, her eyes challenging him to a fight. Henry would have taken Anne right now, but he remembered about Doctor Linacre’s interdiction.

Henry was radiating fury. “I don’t wish to listen to you, Anne. You have no right to–”

She raised her chin, and a cold smile was hovering over her lips as she countered him, “Henry, why are you treating me as if I were not the woman whom you chose to be your wife and queen so long ago? Why have you forgotten about your promises?”

His features froze, and his eyes suddenly very hard, he snapped, “Anne, I elevated you to my queen from commoners. I fought for us, and we finally married. What else do you need?”

“Do you really care for me?” she breathed, masking her hurt under a mocking smile.

His expression softened. “I do care for you. How can you doubt that?”

Some of her anger fading, Anne recalled the old times when Henry had been a loving spouse to her. She let herself hope that not everything was broken between them. “Then, why do you love others?” She shook her head in misery. “Do you not see that it breaks my heart?”

Henry was deeply moved emotionally, and now he felt attracted to Anne beyond measure. She had never allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, especially him. It was a rare moment when he could see his wife without the unemotional mask she masterfully wore on her face. This Anne who was not intemperate and rebellious was appealing to him.

He took a step to Anne and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I love you, sweetheart,” he spelled out in a voice thick with emotion. “Never doubt my feelings for you.”

She studied him for a long moment before inquiring, “But how can you love me if you also love Jane Seymour and many other women?”

Softness was gone from Henry’s face, replaced by a look of authority. “I am the king, and I can love as many women as I want and need. All my ladies belong to me.”

Anne let out her breath in a gusty sigh. “No, Henry, no! Ladies are not your property! You cannot play with their lives, and you cannot toy with my life either!”

Henry’s mouth thinned with ire. “That’s enough, Anne. I will not tolerate when any of my subjects questions my actions and decisions, including my decision to take a mistress.”

Anne shook her head in disbelief and shuddered like a leaf in the wind. Henry had said almost the same words when she had reproved him for his love escapades. No, he was not the same man who had looked at her with devotion only a moment ago. This man was a callous, hedonistic, and egotistical monarch who tasted absolute power and considered himself God incarnate on earth. The worst was that Anne had assisted the king in obtaining unlimited power that destroyed the gentle and caring person he had once been.

Controlling herself with effort, the queen pronounced tightly, “I used to trust in your honesty, your sincerity, and your love.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “But now I don't believe that you are a man who I once loved. You don’t love me, Henry – you love only yourself.”

Henry leaned forward and touched her face, and Anne nodded again, confirming that he didn’t misunderstand her. Black fury ripped through him at her blatant accusations. All of a sudden, Henry pushed Anne back and pinned her against the wall. His hand encircled around her slender throat, and he ferociously glared into her eyes. Ten years ago, he had held her in the same fashion when he had thought that George Boleyn had been her paramour, not her brother.

“You must be careful, darling,” hissed the king between set teeth. “I have kept you as my queen only because you birthed William who I love very much. I am willing to forgive you for your outrageous behavior, but I will not be so lenient again.” He trailed his fingers down her throat. “You should choose your words carefully, my dear wife.”

“And if I cross a line again?” challenged Anne, her eyes glittering with irritation.

Henry’s visage was livid. Stuttering with outrage, he finally got out, “I am the King of England, and all my counselors will do only what I wish and order.” A nasty smile flittered across his face, and he snarled, “You might land in trouble, my own sweetheart.”

Anne clenched her jaw as she parried, “And what can you do to me?”

His hand squeezed her throat, but as she cried out in pain, his grip immediately loosened. “Fear not for your life, Anne. I bear you no ill will, and you will never be conducted to the Tower unless you betray your marital vows or commit an act of treason against England and me.” It was true that he would have never done anything that could hurt Anne physically because she was the mother of his heir.  However, he could always do something else to keep her in line.

She stood still, staring in two aquamarine pools full of rampage. Her train of thought turned to the days when Henry had courted her: she had always been overwhelmed with an intense passion and a vehement love for him while looking into his eyes. She let out her breath in a small gasp as she realized that now there was a blend of rage and disgust in her heart.

“I will never betray you, Henry,” assured Anne in a voice layered with sincerity and umbrage. Her face contorting in pain, her heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, she avouched, “Such a vile thought would have never crossed my mind. I have known carnally only you, Henry. You must remember that you took my maidenhead on that day in the woods.”

The monarch let out a small smile as he reminisced about the day of Cardinal Woolsey’s death. Anne and Henry had gone to the forest for a ride, where they had had their first coupling, wilder and more passionate than any other encounter he had ever had before with any other woman. Seized by a frenzied yearning for her, he had stripped her of all her clothes and pinned her against a tree, and his hands had unlaced his breeches. Henry and Anne both had wanted each other more than their next breath, and so they had eagerly given in to their passions. The king had taken her – the woman who had denied him for years – because he had been incapable of reigning in his burning desire through force of will despite the fact that they had not been married yet. Anne had stopped them before he could have spilled himself to not risk pregnancy.

“I know, Anne,” answered Henry softly. He then released her and stepped back.

Anne was chilled to the deepest recesses of her heart by his words, but her inner turmoil was concealed by her neutral façade. She had lied to Henry about her virginity all those years ago. She had slept with Sir Thomas Wyatt before the king had shown interest in her and started courting her. She always feared that Henry would ever discover the truth or find the evidence of her short liaison with the poet. She profoundly regretted having a passing affair with Wyatt which ended a long time ago, but it couldn’t be undone, and, thus, Anne had to keep her grave secret. Truth be told, there was no remorse for deceiving Henry on the queen’s part because he regularly betrayed her with other women.

“When why are you saying such things?” Anne inquired after recovering her confidence.

His lips stretched into a crooked grin, the monarch said bluntly, “I want to have a dignified and obedient queen, Anne. Since William’s birth, you behave exactly in the way I want you to act, and I expect that you will continue that way.” He chuckled. “Know your place, my love.”

She smiled viciously. “Very well, Henry. Then I shall revel in the freedom you are allowing me to have as your queen, my lord husband. And I do thank you for being kind to me.”

Henry stared at her, momentarily forgetting the animosity between them and aware of his blood rising hot and thick in his loins. This obedient Anne was so beautiful and tempting! Her body was only inches from his, and he was quite cognizant of the curves beneath her nightgown. His voice suddenly husky, he muttered, “Don’t thank me. You deserve to be given some freedom after you gave me William, but you have no right to meddle in state affairs and my personal life.”

Anne dropped her gaze to hide her aggravation. “Of course.” She wondered whether Henry had ever cared about anyone but himself and his obsessive desire to have a son.

“We have had a dinner together, Anne. Why did you come to me?”

She glanced back at her husband and explained, “I wanted to talk about our upcoming visit to France. However, if you cannot speak now, we can do this tomorrow.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” stressed the king. He would have gladly jerked her slim body next to his and make love to her in this room, burying himself in her until they were closer than a heartbeat. But he didn’t want to abandon his mistress who was now sleeping in his bed; he planned to return to her.

Anne dipped her head in agreement. “As Your Majesty commands.”

He smiled at her, pleased with her submission. “Go to your quarters and get some sleep.”

“With your permission, Your Majesty,” she replied as she curtsied to him. She cast at him a peculiar glance which he left him bewildered, and stormed out of the chamber.

A heartbroken Anne ran through the hallways so fast that she was out of breath when she reached her chambers. Her heart was writhing in the excruciating agony from the betrayal of the love she felt for Henry. She was angry at Henry, herself, and the world, but she comprehended that she would have to continue putting on the show of a happily married couple during their official visit to France. Probably, she would have to pretend and abide by Henry’s rules until the day one of them died, and she would have to do that for the sake of her children – her beloved Elizabeth and William. Only Anne’s children mattered to her; nothing else was important.

§§§

The official visit of King Henry and Queen Anne to Calais for negotiations with King François had a positive outcome. Before, the King of France had refused to acknowledge Henry’s marriage to Anne as legal and valid, but all changed with Catherine of Aragon’s passing. At present, Prince William Tudor and Princess Elizabeth were legitimate children and heirs to the English throne while Lady Mary Tudor was considered the king’s illegitimate daughter.

During their private meeting in Calais in October of 1532, King François had given his implicit support for Anne’s marriage to Henry. But François was obliged to maintain good relations with the pope as a Catholic king. After the executions of Bishop Fisher and Thomas More, François had been shocked with the cost of the religious reforms in England and even made unpleasant comments about Anne’s morals, which had antagonized England and France. The public condemnation of Henry's actions by François earned a break for France in the seemingly endless Italian wars.

As Henry’s bigamy remained in the past, François officially acknowledged Anne Boleyn as Queen of England and congratulated the English royal couple with the birth of Prince William. François treated Henry and Anne as friends, although it was a political play because he wanted to establish an alliance with the King of England against the emperor.

The outcome of Henry and Anne’s meeting with François was very positive for England and France. François signed a betrothal agreement of Princess Elizabeth Tudor to Charles de Valois, Duke d'Angoulême. Elizabeth was supposed to wed Charles at the age of sixteen. Henry also agreed to send Elizabeth to France to spend some time at the French court before the marriage; Anne didn’t voice her objection because she had long realized that there were certain customs for royals she had to accept.

After their return to England, the life of the English royal couple continued in a routine way. The court was at Whitehall Palace as King Henry and Queen Anne held were intending to spend Christmas and New Year there. Days were full of opulent and delightful feasts and brilliant in the shimmering and contrasting colors of pleasantries, luxury, intrigues, plots, and dangers. The generous king gave many profitable appointments and lands to his most loyal courtiers. Lords and ladies clad in expensive attire and jewelry enjoyed the luxurious life.

The courtiers could see King Henry and Queen Anne sitting on their thrones in the presence chamber or in the great hall, smiling at each other and talking about the Golden Age of enlightenment, prosperity, and peace which their reign would bring to England. The king and the queen put on the show of happiness, and they seemed to be the perfect royal couple, if not for a look of disappointment which sometimes passed over Anne’s countenance as she watched her husband compliment to Jane Seymour and other women whom he desired.

Henry didn’t hide his affair with Jane and appeared with her in public. Henry and Jane often came to the presence chamber together, and Anne endured the humiliation with a cold expression and a reserved smile on her face. She controlled her emotions so well that even Henry was astounded with the changes in his wife. The old Anne Boleyn was dead: her fiery nature had been replaced by regal coldness, and her belief in love was being slowly destroyed by her own husband.

The Boleyns and the Howards became the center of influence and power at the court, and it seemed that nothing could deprive them of King Henry’s favor. Thomas Boleyn was elevated to Duke of Wilshire, and he was delighted that he had achieved the highest rank in the English peerage. Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, remained the most powerful nobleman in the realm, and his word had the highest weight at the meetings of the Privy Council. After Jane Seymour had become Henry’s mistress, her father, Sir John Seymour, and her two brothers, Edward and Thomas Seymour, were granted several manors and received positions at the Privy Council, but their influence over the king was overshadowed by that of the Boleyns and the Howards. Edward Seymour was created Viscount Beauchamp and Earl of Hertford, while Thomas became Baron Seymour of Sudeley.

Thomas Cromwell stopped plotting against Anne as he could do nothing after William’s birth, although his relationship with the queen remained strained because of their disagreement about the Dissolution of Monasteries. Obviously, Cromwell and Anne would never be staunch allies like they had been when the king’s chief minister had assisted Henry in his quest for an annulment of his marriage to Catherine. Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, lost his great influence over Henry, who still liked and trusted him but was distant and at times even cold to his old friend. George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford, replaced Suffolk in the king’s good graces.

Queen Anne definitely felt safer after Prince William’s birth because it became more difficult for her enemies to plot against the Boleyns and her. Her sworn foes, including Charles Brandon and Thomas Cromwell, remained inconspicuous and treated her with respect befitting her highest station in the English realm; she had no doubt that they waited for a suitable moment when she had a fallout with the king. Anne was exceedingly cautious, and she no longer made new enemies at court. Some of her former foes attempted to win the queen’s favor and align themselves with the Boleyns, but Anne knew that it was all pretense, although she established contacts with such courtiers.

The common people of England accepted Anne Boleyn as their queen. It was a long and rocky road for her to secure the acceptance of the king’s subjects who had rejected been calling Anne the Concubine and the Whore a few years ago. With the birth of Prince William, the people rejoiced that England finally had a male heir, and that the threat of dynastic wars for succession, like the Wars of the Roses between the houses of Lancaster and York, no longer existed. The people no longer hated Anne, but they did not love her as much as they had felt for Catherine.

In an attempt to forget about the unresolved problems in her union with the king, Queen Anne threw herself into the court life which she loved so much. As Henry and Anne were always in the center of attention, she played the role of a dignified queen before the rich collection of courtiers of all categories, many of whom still dreamt of her downfall. She laughed and smiled, as if she did not care about the king’s infidelities, but inside her heart was breaking. Henry’s behavior severely wounded her heart and soul, and the voice in the back of her head whispered to her that nothing between them would ever be like it had been only four years ago when she had been crowned Queen of England.

Henry and Anne presided over a feast in the great hall. Thomas and George Boleyn, Thomas Howard, Thomas Cromwell, and Charles Brandon stayed close to the king. Jane Seymour and her family – John, Edward, and Thomas Seymour – crowded in the corner, waiting for the king’s invitation to approach the royal couple; they were not yet given the right to stay by the king’s side.

King Henry smiled at Anne. “Sweetheart, I hope you are enjoying the festivities.”

Anne smiled back at her husband. “Your Majesty knows that I have always loved the court life.” She sipped wine from a bejeweled goblet. “The only thing I don’t like is the huge number of groveling backstabbers who profess their love for you while plotting behind your back.”

Henry leaned closer to her and took her hand in his. “Anne, they all can do nothing to you, even if someone still hates you.” He cast a sidelong glance at Charles Brandon and then quickly looked back at Anne. “You are my wife and my queen, and nothing will change it.”

“Thank you.” Perhaps he meant that he would not kill her because she had given him a son.

“You are welcome.”

“I appreciate your words,” added Anne sincerely.

The king scanned the hall, letting his gaze briefly linger at the Seymours who, he knew, loathed Anne. “The court is a place where nobles weave intrigues against the unfortunates who offended them or against those who hinder their rise to power.” As he gazed into his wife’s eyes, he supplemented, “Unless you plot against me or commit adultery, you are safe, Anne.”

An insulted Anne muttered, “Your Majesty, I am not out of my mind.”

Henry perused his wife’s face. Although she was an excellent actress, he caught a momentary flash of fear in her eyes before her usual confidence returned. He didn’t want to alienate her from him, but he believed that sometimes it was useful to intimidate his outspoken, strong, and intemperate queen so as to compel her to bend to his will. Although Anne became tolerant, if not ignorant, of his liaisons, Henry was fully aware that she wore a mask, and it also exasperated him that from time to time, she verbalized her displeasure with his relationship with Jane. The monarch strove to ensure that Anne would never forget her place as his wife whose only duty was to bear his children.

The king planted a kiss on Anne’s temple. “You are only my consort, and your duty is to be obedient and loyal to me. You are the face of England, and I want you to be worthy of the great honor I bestowed upon you when I chose you to be my queen and the mother of my children. You cannot be reckless and disrespectful towards me, especially in public.”

Anne didn’t flinch, her expression impassive. “I understand, Your Majesty,” she answered.

An ominous silence stretched between them as they watched each other.

A thick mist of fear and depression was swirling in her head, and the flame of hatred flared up in her heart. Her life with Henry became nothing more than a miserable existence, and there was the emotional distance between them. She no longer suffered when she saw Henry and Jane together and when she witnessed him lavishing compliments on her own ladies. Anne hardened her heart against her husband, giving herself a word that she would not let him break her spirit and her heart.

Henry nodded. “Never forget that, sweetheart.”

Anne was fed up with his speeches about his kingship and his hints at her inferior position. This time, her pride would not allow her to keep silent. She did not deserve the dreadful treatment he was giving her, and she would defend herself from his attacks, although she hadn’t done that in the past few months. Anne had often acted inappropriately in the past, but she changed, hoping that Henry would appreciate her efforts and would endeavor to reach an understanding with her. But he cared only about himself and his own desires, and he wasn’t going to change for her and their children.

For a few moments, Anne was quiet, her brain busy mulling over the situation. Then she shot him an indignant look and murmured in a voice laced with steel, “Henry, you say that you can murder me if I cuckold you. But what about your escapades? You regularly betray me with this wench Jane Seymour and many other whores.” Throwing him a thin smile bordering on insolence, she continued, “Yet, you cannot endure even the thought of someone touching me.” She scoffed. “Does the thought of another man taking me enrage you?”

The king’s face turned purple in anger. “Anne–”

“Oh, my beloved husband!” interrupted the queen, her chin set at an obstinate angle. This time, his rage would not deter her from confronting him because her patience had been running thin for many months. “Or does the idea of me carrying another man’s child cause you to feel both shocked and humiliated? Or maybe it makes you feel dismayed like a commander who lost a decisive battle?” She broke into a laugh full of undisguised malice. “Do such thoughts make you hate me so much that you cannot fight the urge to threaten me?”

Henry gripped her forearm. “Madame, you have forgotten who you are,” he hissed.

Thomas and George Boleyn and Thomas Howard shared anxious glances; they could not hear the royal conversation, but the king’s actions proved that something serious was happening. Charles Brandon and Thomas Cromwell exchanged leering smiles, reveling in the thought that Anne had enraged Henry. The Seymours flashed gloating smiles, pleased to see the king quarrel with his queen.

Anne didn’t look frightened as she boldly asserted, “I haven’t forgotten anything, Henry, and I never will.” She grinned sardonically and said mockingly, “After all, how can I forget if you are always pedaling the same old drivel? You should invent something new.”

“Don’t provoke me,” growled Henry, his aquamarine eyes stormy with temper. “I shall not continue this argument.” His voice sounded so soft and so quiet that she had to strain to hear his words above the din in the great hall. “We agreed that you don’t interfere with my life and politics. I permit you to lead the life of my humble queen until I wish to pay you more attention.”

A portentous silence ensued. Anne tore her gaze away from the king and stared into space. A mixture of conflicted emotions – heartache, fear, disappointment, and despair – were alternating like a pendulum, but the bitter disappointment in her husband overrode everything else. During their courtship and at the beginning of their matrimony, the sight of him had made her breathless, but now she didn’t even want to look at Henry. Anne was puzzled as to why she felt hollow at this very moment.

Shaking the disconcerting thoughts from her mind, the queen smiled wanly. “Your Majesty, you can bed as many women as your heart covets. I shall not object if you change them as often as clothes and jewelry. I will be walking a tightrope day and night if it is what pleases you.” A smirk creased her face. “But I don’t comprehend why it is painful for you to think that another man can desire me, even though you know that I will never betray you.”

 “You are my wife, Anne!” His visage indicated a sense of possessiveness.

The king eyed Anne. She looked magnificent in her extravagant French gown made out of expensive red brocade, with a low, square-cut neckline trimmed with Venetian lace, and he directed a lustful stare at her bosom that was adorned with a gorgeous small single strand of pearls with gold “B” pendant hanging from the center. Most definitely, his queen was a Boleyn in her appearance and spirit, and she was very beautiful, with a captivating air of dark charm and exuberant allure about her. Henry could not imagine that Anne could harbor amorous sentiments towards any other man because he still had a lingering affection for her and because she belonged to him. Anne was his and only his!

A sparkle flickered in Anne’s eyes, but it rapidly disappeared. Henry had said that she was his spouse, but the word ‘wife’ sounded so hollow. Unexpectedly to her, her current aversion to her own husband was too deeply rooted to be easily overcome, and her mouth tightened at the unwelcome realization. Unable to explain it herself, Anne thrust those thoughts aside and focused on the topic.

“Do such musings wound your inflated ego, Your Majesty?” A vitriolic laugh bubbled out of her. “Mayhap you would like me to pretend to fall in with the idea of my absolute obedience to you, my lord and husband. But if I no longer ignite fire in you, would that not be dull?”

Henry gnashed his teeth and ground out, “It is none of your business, Anne.”

“Because you are the mighty king,” Anne jeered.

“The argument is finished,” grouched the monarch in a commanding voice.

Her features were unruffled, but the full red lips appeared as if a scathing smile would curve their shape at any second, and the blue eyes twinkled with a hint of acrid laughter. “I will obey Your Majesty and will stop talking. The only thing I like more than talking is eating.”

Henry flicked his gaze to Jane Seymour who still stood in the corner with her brothers and her father. Anne saw Henry’s eyes sparkle at the sight of Jane’s sweet smile. She found the situation strangely amusing because she did not care about Henry’s infidelities as much as she had done before. She no longer hated Jane for taking Henry from her because there was nothing to take – the king loved himself more than all those women whom he had known carnally.

Anne intercepted Henry’s salacious gaze directed at Lady Ursula Misseldon, one of her new ladies-in-waiting, and a half-smile formed on her lips at the thought that her husband had spotted another pretty face. Henry beckoned Charles Brandon to him, who hurried to his lord liege. Anne didn’t forget about Henry’s infamous hunting parties in the company of Charles Brandon and Antony Knivert when he had countless extramarital affairs, and she guessed that Henry would ask Suffolk to act as a match-maker. A cloud of indifference settled over Anne, and she smiled to herself.

After speaking to Henry, Suffolk ambled towards Lady Misseldon, and Henry permitted Jane Seymour and her relatives to approach the thrones. Jane curtsied, a shy smile on her pale features, her eyes downcast. The Seymours bowed to the king who then greeted them warmly, in too an affectionate manner which was noticed by Anne’s father, brother, and uncle.

Unlike her relatives, Anne found the situation hilarious. She admitted that Jane looked charming in her fashionable dark green silk gown with a decent square-cut neckline and the front adorned with pearls. Nevertheless, Anne was thinking not of Henry’s indiscretions, but of the fact that Jane’s curtsey could never be as enchanting as her own. Anne stifled a laughter when Jane rose from her curtsey; she thought that Jane needed to take more lessons of courtly manners, which she herself had received in her childhood at the courts of Archduchess Margaret of Austria and King François I of France.

King Henry rose to his feet and came to his mistress. “Jane, I have missed you so much, my love,” he said aloud, not caring that Queen Anne and his closest entourage could hear him.

Jane Seymour smiled timidly. “Your Majesty, I have missed you too.” Her smile grew wider as the king ran his hand over her cheek, tilting her head to look at him.

Henry regretted that he could not make Jane his queen because his life with her would be easier than with Anne: Jane would always be more submissive and less intemperate than Anne even with all her recent changes in her character. But he would not replace Anne because she was the mother of his heirs and because he still lusted for her. A wave of guilt washed over the monarch: he could not grant Jane a more privileged status in life despite his great respect to her and his adoration of her grace, modesty, and honesty. Henry thought that he loved Jane more than Anne and Catherine! He had to do something to keep Jane close to himself and make his favorite’s position official at court.

Henry looked at his lover. “Jane, I wish to make you my _maîtresse-en-titre_. It is the least I can do for you, and I hope you will agree.” He pulled his gaze from Jane and glanced at Anne. “My queen respects the desires of her king and her husband – she will not protest.”

Thomas Boleyn’s eyes were shooting daggers as he was silently accusing Anne of her failure to win the battle with Jane Seymour. Thomas Howard and George Boleyn looked worried before their features regained neutrality. Charles Brandon and Thomas Cromwell flashed triumphant smiles. Others watched the exchange between the king and his mistress with interest, but they stood too far to eavesdrop. But those who heard the king’s offer gasped in startled shock.

In a voice dripping with amazement, Jane responded, “Your Majesty, it is a great honor!”

At this moment, Queen Anne felt nothing, as if her mind and body had become numb. Jane’s consent deepened emotional estrangement of her from Henry, but there was no pain in her heart for some strange reason. Her eyes were cold and aloof, not hateful and irate; her expression evolved into bland nonchalance. Anne wondered whether she was past caring for what else Henry could do to her in their marriage that seemed to be as broken as a tree branch after a vehement storm.

Henry caressed Jane’s cheek with his thumb. “It makes me happy, Jane.” Oddly enough, he was not as pleased as he thought he would be because he expected some resistance from Jane.

“I will do anything to please Your Majesty,” avouched Jane. She then gave Anne a nasty glance, thinking that she had won the battle for the king’s heart, even if she had not become the queen. She did not understand that Henry loved himself above all things.

Anne’s lips stretched in an arrogant smile and addressed Jane, “My lady, it seems that seeing the lengths that a king in love might go simply to win a woman made you decide that he can do the same for any woman he desires. But you have to remember that the King of England already has his queen.” She flitted her gaze to her husband and, grinning waspishly, jested, “Henry, I wish you to have a good night today as you will undoubtedly celebrate the event.”

Henry shot Anne a fulminating look. “Anne, please–”

Anne cut him off. “Your Majesty, I don’t object to Lady Jane becoming your _maîtresse-en-titre_. I respect your rights to take a mistress, and I know my obligations very well.” She laughed. “You have reminded me of them today, and I am not suffering from the loss of memory.”

The king at a loss for words. But it was not Anne’s boldness or her mocking speech which puzzled him – it was the cold indifference which he deciphered in her eyes, and he admitted to himself that it injured his pride and vanity. “Thank you, Anne,” he said after an awkward pause.

“You are welcome, Henry,” answered Anne casually.

As the official royal mistress and her relatives walked away and mingled with other courtiers, the herald announced the arrival of Lady Mary Tudor at court and in the great hall.

Anne remembered the day when she had come to Mary who had served in Elizabeth’s household on her own father’s orders and promised that she would never recognize her mother’s marriage as null and void. Eventually, Mary gave in to the king’s demands: Anne managed to persuade her that if Mary continued to claim that she was the true Princess of Wales, she would be tried for high treason.

As Lady Mary Tudor entered the great hall, a hush fell over the courtiers. The young woman looked lovely in her gown made out of white and black velvet, with a V-shaped neckline cut and the front embellished with diamonds and rubies. Her long brown hair was arranged in an up-do on the nape of her head, and a gold thread with rubies was woven into her hair. It was one of the gowns which Anne had sent for Mary to Hatfield after they had chosen the date of Mary’s return to court.

Mary slowly made her way to the royal thrones. She stopped several paces from Henry’s throne and dropped a curtsey; her head was bowed, her expression neutral, although inside she was shaking with fright mingled with disgust. Her only desire was to wake from the nightmare where she would have to recognize and treat the Boleyn whore as queen. But she understood that she had to obey the king after the birth of her half-brother, William, if she wanted to keep her head.

The monarch’s voice jerked Mary from her reverie. “Rise, Mary,” permitted the king.

Mary rose from her curtsey, but she didn’t dare look at him. “Your Majesty,” she greeted.

“My beloved Queen Anne pleaded with me to show mercy to you, Lady Mary,” Henry began, his eyes darting between Anne and Mary. He was grateful to Anne for her efforts to reconcile him with his eldest daughter, although he didn’t quite comprehend how she managed to achieve what he and his counselors had failed to do. “She informed me about your wish to sign the Oath of succession.”

Mary lifted her eyes and found herself looking at the royal couple. She almost recoiled from his stony expression and his piercing, chilly gaze raked her from head to toe. She inwardly sighed as hesitation pulled at her gut, and for a fraction of a second, she imagined that it was just a bad dream that she was yet to wake up from. But as her eyes met the king’s, Mary immediately became cognizant of the miserable reality that awaited her. The former princess still cared for her father, but her love for him was besmirched with the vice that she hated the most – with his continuous repudiation of her rightful inheritance and became somewhat hollow because he hurt her too much.

Mary Tudor was also bewildered at the sight of an encouraging smile on Anne’s face. She shook her head, reminding herself that Anne was her mortal enemy, and that she hated the evil woman. Anne Boleyn was nobody – a mere commoner and a vile usurper, and she, Mary Tudor had more royal blood in her veins than all the Boleyns altogether. Nonetheless, she had to abdicate her right to the throne to save herself. She shuddered as a tide of black rage coursed through her, and she cursed Anne Boleyn in her mind because all of her trials and tribulations were caused by this whore.

“I am grateful to Her Majesty for her plea,” declared Mary calmly, struggling to keep her voice devoid of emotions. “I acknowledge my mother's union with Your Majesty as invalid. I agree with your judgment that my mother was the wife of Your Majesty's late brother and, therefore, only Princess Dowager of Wales.” She swallowed a lump of bitterness in her throat. “I don’t doubt the validity of Your Majesty’s marriage to Queen Anne.” She sighed heavily. “I declare that I have no claim to the title of Princess of England, let alone the Princess of Wales and Your Majesty’s heir. I recognize Princess Elizabeth and Prince William as Your Majesty’s only legitimate children and heirs.”

Anne’s heart skipped a beat at the thought that Mary had finally relented. She was not fond of the girl and Catherine of Aragon, but she respected them for their strength and for their stubbornness as they had fought for what they believed belonged to them by divine right. At the same time, Anne was confused as to why they had fought the lost battle, not understanding that their fierce and stubborn resistance aggravated the situation and resulted in the persecution of them on Henry’s orders. Anne also felt guilty of encouraging Henry to keep Mary at a distance and treat her as a servant in order to break her will and coerce her into submission by means of the flagrant humiliation.

The surprised murmur of the courtiers buzzed in the air. The nobles expressed their approval of Mary’s decision, which was most loudly voiced by the Dukes of Norfolk and Wiltshire. George Boleyn only smiled, relieved that Mary no longer posed a threat to his nephews. Queen Catherine’s ardent supporters – Charles Brandon and his wife, Catherine Willoughby, Imperial Ambassador Eustace Chapuys, Jane Seymour and her entire family, and some others – looked grim.

Mary thought that it was cruel on her father’s part to allow all these nobles, among whom there were many supporters of Anne Boleyn, to witness her submission. Mary locked her arctic gaze with Anne’s, and each of them knew that they would be bitter adversaries forever because Mary would never forgive Anne for supplanting Catherine on the throne and for driving her mother away from her father. Unbeknownst to Mary, Anne regretted that they would never become at least allies; if Anne had told her stepdaughter about that, the younger woman would not have believed her.

The satisfied king smiled slightly. He did not have any inclination to brand his daughter a traitor and execute her. “Lady Mary, we are pleased to know that you finally see the truth.”

A gust of helpless fury billowed through Mary’s veins at the thought that the Boleyns were enjoying the moment of their victory over her and her sainted mother. However, she put on a brave face, and, not the least bit outwardly perturbed, she promulgated, “I beseech Your Majesty to grant me forgiveness for my disobedience, and I promise that I will rectify my actions. I humbly submit myself to your will as your loving daughter and your loyal subject.”

“We appreciate your humility, Lady Mary,” proclaimed Henry in a voice colored with warmth, a pleased gleam in his eyes. “Archbishop Crammer will ensure you take the Oath.”

Mary bowed her head. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

Anne breathed out a sigh of relief as Mary had put her hand on the Bible and had taken the Oath. As she listened to Mary’s steady voice speaking the things the king’s daughter obviously hated, Anne contemplated her own feelings and found herself amazed that she was not happy – there was only relief in her heart. Mary was no longer in danger from her own father who had once told Anne that he would have to arrest his disobedient bastard daughter if she had not relented. Of course, she was relieved that her children’s rights to the throne were no longer threatened by the former princess.

Henry chuckled when Mary finished the Oath. He stood up, walked over to his daughter, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Welcome to court,” he said with an amicable smile.

A slight blush suffused Mary’s cheeks. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Father,” corrected Henry, and a radiant smile blossomed on his visage.

Her surprise was evident in the gasp that came from her, for she didn’t anticipate the king being amicable towards her. “Yes, father,” Mary echoed, and she returned a tremulous smile.

From her throne, Queen Anne watched King Henry plant a gentle kiss on Mary’s forehead, and she again felt relief wash over her at the confirmation her husband’s anger at Mary had abated. Anne’s dreams came true: she was the queen who was accepted by the English subjects, as well as the mother of the future King of England, and Mary was no longer a rival to her children. Nevertheless, there was a void in the queen’s heart, as if the universe had opened up and swallowed a large part of her. It seemed to Anne that the happiness, which her queenship was supposed to bring into her life, vanished like a dream upon waking, and instead the black abyss of depression was yawning before her.

§§§

On Christmas, the grand banquet was organized in the superbly decorated great hall. All glowered in the orange light from many blazing candles and torches which hung on the walls. Hundreds of candelabras were placed strategically to cast the chamber in splendid light. The walls were draped with marvelous tapestries depicting scenes of summer hunts, horseback rides, and outdoor festivities. The great U-shaped table was covered with crisp white damask, silver and bejeweled goblets sparkled, and the platters overflowing with sumptuous food and viands gleamed. Musicians played lively and sweet music from a balcony.

A festive spirit was in the air, and the evening was merry and full of life for everyone, excluding Queen Anne Boleyn. Sitting in her throne with her head high and her countenance impenetrable, Anne looked gorgeous in her fashionable gown of burgundy brocade with a low square-cut neckline, a long purple taffeta train, an ample skirt, and with burgundy airy sleeves. A large golden tiara, studded with diamonds, adorned the queen's head, and an enormous ruby and diamonds necklace encircled her neck. There was a Boleyn enigmatic and enchanting smile on her face, but at times, it morphed into a wry smirk.

Queen Anne veered her unreadable gaze to King Henry, her expression neutral, as if she were indifferent to her husband's scandalous escapades and caprices which had drastically altered her life. Several weeks ago, the monarch had enjoined that Lady Jane Seymour, his much-cherished paramour, would always sit beside him on a throne on the king's left while his queen sat on his right. The king's desire painted a sordid picture of his attitude to his queen and officially proclaimed that now there were three people in the royal marriage – Anne, Henry, and Jane. A dark cloud of scandal lay thick upon the landscape of Anne's life, but Henry behaved in the way as if the gross immorality of his actions was normal and gallant.

Henry was adamant about keeping Jane close to him; despite John Seymour's recent death, Jane was not allowed to attend his funeral as the king wanted her to stay with him. On feasts and banquets, Jane sat near Henry and, hence, Anne. The trio of the king, the queen, and the king's  _maîtresse-en-titre_  were continuously gossiped about, but nobody dared criticize the English sovereign because they would never go against the king, whose volatile Tudor temper was very uncomfortable to be on the receiving end. Lady Ursula Misseldon, also Henry's lover, was also in favor, but she was not granted any privileges and continued serving the queen.

Everyone was exceedingly interested in why Anne Boleyn, whose temper was legendary at court, remained composed. They anticipated the queen's emotions being like a volcano that was close to erupting, but instead they saw only her inscrutable façade and a beguiling aura of regal coldness about her. No one had a clue as to what Anne was really feeling tonight: they didn't know that inside her heart was breaking, as if an invisible fist clutched and tore at her insides.

Anne did not even flinch at the sight of Henry whispering endearments into Jane's ear.  _I will let him sleep with that Seymour wench as often as he wishes. I have turned a blind eye, and it was the right course of action. Jane can be his official mistress until his dying day, but I am his wife and the mother of the next king of England. Henry can lustfully gain possession of her pale body every night, but he will never take her with a wild abandon that he displays when he makes love to me, his wife. I am the only woman in the whole world who can ignite a vehement fire in Henry which he cannot control and which makes him happy with me._ Such were Anne's thoughts about the current situation in her personal life.

The queen viewed her rival from toe to toe. Jane was dressed in a luxurious gown of red brocade with a V-shaped neckline and ample sleeves trimmed with Venetian lace and pearls. With Henry's permission, Jane started wearing the color purple, which she had never been bold enough to do a few weeks ago. Jane's demeanor changed: she became less shy and sometimes even frivolous, and she was willing to openly display her affection for Henry. Jane was immensely proud of being the keeper of Henry's heart, as she naively believed, and the official royal mistress, and the violence of her pride was such that she frequently told the king he was more bound to her than man had ever been to woman – Anne's spies reported that to her.

The Seymours significantly benefited from Jane's new status, and Jane didn't hide that she was proud of being. As a special gift, King Henry made Jane a grant of more than thirty manors in four counties, as well as a number of forests and hunting chases. Jane was created Duchess of Dover in her own right, which made her the highest-ranking noblewoman in the peerage of England after Queen Anne and Princess Elizabeth Tudor. Henry's actions caused everyone at court to discuss the matter, excluding Anne who showed no interest in it.

From the corner of her eye, Anne watched Henry take Jane's hand in his and kiss it. Jane smiled at him from beneath her long eyelashes; she was pleased that the king demonstrated his loving sentiments towards her in front of the whole court. Despite the unpleasant gravity of the situation, Anne had to smother a chuckle, thinking that Jane Seymour looked hilarious in her current role; the queen still could not understand what attracted her husband in this country mouse. Anne was accustomed to seeing Jane and Henry together, but, to her huge surprise, she discovered that she was no longer jealous of Henry, and she was not angry at all either. The queen realized that she was indifferent to the fact Henry was unfaithful to her.

Anne tore her gaze from the two lovers and fairly wolfed down her food. When she pushed aside her platter, Henry snapped his figures, and the servants brought a new sumptuous course. The queen especially liked delicate veal, venison, fish and French cheese, which she asked a servant to put on her platter. Taking a goblet of wine, she offered a Christmas toast and then a toast for peace and prosperity in England; Henry smiled and joined her. Jane sipped only a little wine, but more out of respect to the king because she didn't drink much.

Anne thought that the huge number of various dishes which graced the table was rather scandalous. Although she liked the court's opulence, she wasn't as fond of the idea to show off the wealth the Crown possessed as Henry was. She would rather use some monies from the state treasury to advance enlighten in England by financing the building of schools, hospitals, and shelters for commoners and especially for the poor. Buy she couldn't voice her thoughts to the king who would rebuke her sharply and would demand that she not interfere with his deals.

A smile blossoming on her face, Anne told her husband exactly the opposite to what she covertly thought. "Henry, today's festivities are truly magnificent, and that demonstrates to the whole world the prosperity of the English realm. You must be proud of our court!"

Henry smiled at his wife. "Sweetheart, I am happy that you think so. Our court is not worse than the French court, although Francois would never agree with me."

"You are a true Renaissance king," Anne flattered him with a sweet smile on her features.

They conversed idly for several moments, and Anne amused herself as she contemplated the king's beaming expression as she praised him and his policies. She didn't consider Henry a Renaissance monarch because in her lifetime, the English court would probably not be able to compete with King Francois' cultured and magnificent court. She was relieved when he engaged in a lively conversion with his mistress, for she was not keen on playing the charade of being the king's loving wife who flattered him and who catered to his every whim.

Anne peered at Thomas Boleyn, Duke of Wiltshire, and Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who stood in the corner of the banqueting hall. As they conversed quietly, they often slanted glances at her which held the transparent sting of judgment and a little exasperation. The queen guessed that they were discussing her fractured relationship with Henry and the ways to improve it, plotting how to bring Anne back into Henry's favor and bed. Months ago, Anne had made it clear to her father that she would no longer be his marionette, and Thomas Boleyn berated his daughter for not displaying a stronger loyalty to the Boleyns and the Howards. But Anne didn't care because she had power at court, and her father no longer could manipulate her.

The queen swept her eyes over the chamber and smiled breezily, admiring the shining opulence and extravagance, which she introduced at the English court, taking the example from the eccentric and magnificent French court where she had spent her early youth. She let her gaze linger at her sister, Lady Mary Stafford and her husband, William Stafford, who were allowed to attend Christmas festivities after Anne had summoned Mary back to court. Lady Stafford looked happy, and Anne rejoiced that her sister was enjoying her return to London.

Anne was so lost in thought that she didn't see her relatives approach the three thrones. Thomas and George Boleyn warmly greeted the king, their faces betraying no displeasure at the sight of Jane's hand clasped in the king's. Henry smiled broadly and wished them merry Christmas. Despite being distant from Anne, he still kept the Boleyns in the highest favor and granted them more estates; Anne had given Henry a son, so the king rewarded her family.

Jane and Henry then stood up and joined the Seymours who gathered in the opposite part of the great hall. Anne rose from her throne as well while the two Boleyn men stood nearby.

Thomas Boleyn began officially, "Your Majesty, how are you doing on Christmas?"

George eyed Anne with concern. "Are you all right, Anne?"

Anne managed a smile. "I am fine. Don't worry about me, brother."

George bestowed upon her a cordial smile. "Merry Christmas, sister."

The queen raised a goblet to her lips. "Merry Christmas!" she purred as she was slowly drinking the red liquid. She was delighted to see them because it was better than being alone.

Thomas Boleyn gently took her hands in his. "Anne, I am worried about your relationship with His Majesty. His love for you soured, and we are fortunate that it hasn't turned to rancorous hate yet," he whispered. "It cannot continue this way."

Filled with increasing disquietude, Anne let out a bitter laugh. "Father, what can I do? I've already stopped trying to influence Henry politically, and it seems to me that it is the only thing I can do for now." She stilled for a moment, and her lips twisted in distaste. Hiding her emotion, she pronounced, "Henry doesn't want me and spends all his time with that Seymour whore. He made her his official mistress, and it is not some sort of amusement he arranged for his benefit for a short time. He is not going to discard her anytime soon."

A crafty and knowing smile flitted across Boleyn's features. "There is something you can do to try and salvage your marriage. You have to give the king a second son."

"A Duke of York," pointed out George.

The queen slowly nodded her head because it was true. Henry was obsessed with the idea of having sons, and he would worship her if she gave him another male heir. "How can I do that if–" She broke off abruptly, fearing that someone might eavesdrop.

Anne didn't have to voice what troubled her relatives. Every lord and lady at court knew that the king had forsaken the queen's bed, even though six months after Prince William's birth had passed. She didn't complain about Henry's infidelities anymore, and she didn't inform them about the existing coolness between Henry and herself. But Anne knew that her father was a resourceful man who regularly paid to Lady Madge Shelton, one of her ladies-in-waiting, for information about her, so he was fully aware of all his daughter's problems. George didn't have his own spy in Anne's household, but Thomas Boleyn undoubtedly shared all tidbits with him.

Anne's gaze fell on Henry and Jane: he bent his head and kissed his mistress on the lips, as if they were alone in his bedchamber. She heard her husband compliment to his grand favorite, declaring that he was her loyal Lancelot while she was his Guinevere.

George tugged at the sleeve of Anne's gown. As she turned to him, he sympathetically articulated, "I am sorry, my dear sister. If it makes you feel any better, I am quite positive that Jane Seymour cannot awaken in the king emotions which entrance and exhilarate him.” As he lapsed into silence, he cast a resentful glance at the monarch and then glanced back at Anne.

"To be honest, I stopped caring," confessed Anne with a sneer. Then, cocking her head in the direction of her husband, she continued, "Henry caused me so much pain when he betrayed his marital vows, but something has changed. When I look at my husband, I just don't feel the same way as I felt before, although he looks exactly like the man I used to absolutely adore. I can stare at him for hours, searching in my heart for the warm feelings I always felt in the past."

Thomas Boleyn regarded her curiously and attentively, searching for a trace of jealousy in her features and in her eyes, but he found nothing. "Excellent, Anne," he said with a satisfied smile. "You have finally learned to hide emotions as I recommended to you before."

"I became wiser, Father." Anne sipped some wine. "I have learned from my mistakes."

"Thanks be to God," murmured Thomas, relieved. Turning once more to the king and then back to the queen, he said in a voice laced with satisfaction, "Anne, you are falling out of love, and, please, don't beat yourself up. It is for the better because he will no longer hurt you."

George chimed in, "Sister, I know you have been trying too hard to focus on the things you still value in the king, but it is obvious that you are slipping away inside." As Anne frowned at him, he hastily added, "But your lack of connection with Henry might not necessarily be the omen of a terminal rupture. What we know for sure is that things are not right."

The queen shrugged at her brother's courteous words. "With enough motivation, Henry and I would have probably saved our marriage. But he doesn't have any inclination to fight for us and to honor his old promises. Thus, there is only a little chance to improve our relationship."

Thomas inquired, "And do you want to save the wreckage of your union with His Majesty?"

Her voice a hoarse whisper, Anne got out, "At present, disappointments in my marriage happen more regularly than several years ago. Henry's promises are worthless, and I see that as a major disruption in trust. I perceive his explanations for his emotional distance from me and for his frequent absences from court as lame excuses. His future plans for us and our children are no longer believed in. I no longer feel if we were one heart, one soul, and one body." She heaved a sigh and summed up, "There is nothing to save."

"It is good for you, Anne," her father responded instantly, and her brother gave a nod.

Wresting her gaze from her relatives, Anne's eyes landed on the smug faces of Edward and Thomas Seymour, her sworn foes whose cunning they had underestimated when they had just appeared at court. She loathed the Seymours who had taught their plain sister to catch the king's eye. Anne sneered at the thought that it would be her son, William, who would succeed Henry while Jane and Henry's children – if she was not barren, for she failed to conceive so far – would be bastards. Nevertheless, Anne was conscious of the threat the Seymours posed to her: they could become the death of her if she had made any wrong move or choice.

As Anne saw Henry kissing Jane's hand, her face lip up with a vicious smile. She flicked her eyes to them and affirmed, "In the Knight of the Lion, a great romance by Chrétien de Troyes, Guinevere is praised for her intelligence, humility, and gentility." She looked between her two companions. "But in Marie de France's Lanval, Guinevere is a vengeful adulteress, disliked by all well-bred knights. I tend to agree with the latter view on Guinevere's personality."

"And so do I," intoned George.

Thomas bobbed his head. "The Seymour girl is not as simple as she seems, but she is not dangerous to us because the king has a son with Boleyn blood," he commented. "Anne, we need another son because it will cement your position as queen."

Anne broke into a caustic laugh. "I am not a sorceress to create a child from the air."

Thomas leaned closer to his daughter. "Anne, you must charm and seduce His Majesty. You are intelligent and beautiful, and you know how to regain his affection."

George nodded. "Sister, you are fabulous, and you can hold a man's interest for a lifetime."

"Maybe," the queen said with a touch of doubt.

"Sister, you must again win the king," elaborated George. In response, she glowered at him, and, in an apologetic voice, showing her that he cared not only about the family's interests, he added, "You must do that for your own sake and for Elizabeth and William."

Anne flashed George a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, brother."

"It is necessary for the family," underscored Thomas Boleyn.

The queen met the cynical gaze of her ambitious parent squarely. "Why do you always care about the family interests more than the interests of your own children, Father?"

"Straight to the point," George agreed with a sigh of regret.

The Duke of Wiltshire seethed with anger, but he couldn't reprimand Anne in public. "We have to go, George," he said, looking around as he bowed to the queen.

George Boleyn flourished a bowed. "Take care, Anne. Good luck."

Anne smiled heartily at George who smiled back and winked at her. There had been times when her a relationship with her brother had been strained. She had once thought that George had become like her father – a cold, ruthless, power-hungry, and selfish seasoned courtier who cared only about himself and his titles. But she was mistaken because after the birth of Prince William, George supported her and helped her survive through heartbreak and disappointment in Henry, through the emotional abuse the king heaped upon her. George was still her brother who deeply loved her, and for him Anne was not a tool to be used for his advancement.

Thomas Boleyn joined Thomas Howard at the card table. George approached Lady Jane Parker Boleyn, but he only bowed to her and then strode away because their communication was very tense. George beseeched Anne to assist him in obtaining a divorce from his wife, and she supported him because she disliked Jane Boleyn. Despite his astonishment, King Henry allowed George Boleyn to begin divorce proceedings because Anne begged him for a small favor on behalf of her brother. If Anne had known that George was Mark Smeaton's lover, she would have given a second thought to his request, but she still had no idea about their sinful affair.

Henry and Jane were talking with the Seymour brothers. The longer Anne was watching Henry with his mistress, the more puzzled with her own feelings she was becoming. It didn't pain her when Henry kissed Jane's hand and gave her hungry stares. She wondered whether she had already resigned herself to Henry's infidelities, or whether the great love she had once felt for her husband had run out, as her father had assumed tonight.

Anne knew that the courtiers were amazed by her tolerance of Henry's escapades. Many nobles cast prying glances at the beautiful queen, studying her expression as they endeavored to guess whether she was as indifferent as she seemed to be. Anne was accustomed to being beheld by others with fascination, curiosity, malice, envy, and hatred, and she was not discomfited that she was being observed by everyone. They all waited for the explosion of her temper in public, but nothing followed. When Jane became an official royal mistress, many gloated at Anne's failure to keep the king's love; but now all these nobles were sincerely puzzled with her behavior.

In half an hour, the dancing began. The courtiers lined up on the dance floor, and Henry invited his queen to dance. Anne didn't want to accept, but she had no choice and took his hand with a faint smile quivering in the corner of her lips. As the king and his wife stood in the middle of the chamber and others surrounded them, the musicians began to play the pavane. Couples moved lightly, touching their fingers; the first couple was Henry and Anne, and all the others followed them. At the same time, Jane Seymour sat on her throne, observing Henry and Anne.

Henry was staring at Anne with pure lust in his eyes for the first time in many months. She was cognizant of her gracefulness on the dance floor, thinking that it impressed Henry and carried him back to the erstwhile happy days of their courtship. As an ulcer on his leg didn't trouble Henry in the past year, he danced almost at every feast, feeling young again. Now Henry was enjoying the moment, but, oddly enough, she didn't want to be close to him; she would have better danced with George if he hadn't been engaged in a lively chat with Smeaton.

King Henry smiled and asked, "Sweetheart, are you enjoying the evening?"

Queen Anne nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty," she responded with a small smile.

"Anne, your smile is enchanting," he murmured, his eyes glittering with passion. They were so close that they could feel each other's breathing. "This smile bewitches me as if I had been caught in the spell of a mysterious magician. You are undoubtedly the most tempting creature it has ever been my fortune – or misfortune – to find."

She inwardly shuddered in rage, but her smile widened. "I am glad that you are pleased. Your compliments are so thoughtful and inspiring."

Henry perused Anne from head to toe as they stepped forward in the dance. The wild beating of his heart, the concupiscent yearning that twisted in his belly, the blood that thickened in his veins, and the hard, throbbing ache between his thighs were unmistakable. He took a deep breath to ward off the urge to stop and press a searing kiss on her mouth. The king wanted other women, but  _not like this_. Never  _like this_! Every time Henry kissed Anne, he literally felt as if he were consumed by a conflagration of unquenchable fire, and even now, when their hands touched from time to time as they moved, he was already burning with the need for her.

The monarch's thoughts were about _his_ Anne. _So much time passed since I took Anne as my wife. She gave me two children, but her body is still well-curved, vibrant, and young. She is as lovely as she was years ago! There has always been a fathomless mystery about Anne that makes me shiver with excitement. I miss the moments when we both were insensible to everything but the primeval need that dominated us. But tonight Anne will be mine again, and I will make love to her with helpless abandon_   _and my expert ways._ The king could remember vividly the feel of her in his arms, and he longed for her with every fibre of his being. He desperately needed to reach the same pinnacle as he had felt during the night when Anne and he had last been intimate, writhing in an insane dance of rampant passion after dancing the Volté.

The king's heart began to thump madly in his chest as he surveyed his wife again. "You look majestic today. This gown is fitting for the great Queen of England – for you."

As their eyes locked again, Anne again saw the desire in her husband's eyes. Henry smiled at her with his old tender smile, and she suddenly saw the young Henry in him, the man she had fallen in love with years ago. She couldn't breathe and couldn't talk, staring into his eyes and drowning in them while they moved almost automatically. He overwhelmed her senses, and she breathed him, felt him with her skin; she ached and burned, and she wanted and needed him. Tremors seared along her spine, and her heart sped as Henry grinned at her flamboyantly.

She drew a deep breath. "Thank you for the compliment, Your Majesty. I wanted to please you," she threw over her shoulder as she made a new turn.

As she swiveled, Anne caught a glimpse of Jane Seymour who was now surrounded by her vile relatives. Their gazes met for an instant, and Anne smiled at Jane, but her eyes were cold. The image of Jane sitting on Henry's lap resurfaced in her mind, and ire simmered in her veins as fresh and strong as it had had the day he had betrayed her and she had seen their adulterous kiss. Immediately, a ravishing haze of desire evaporated from her head, and she stiffened like someone sensing the presence of a large predator. Anne looked back at the smiling Henry, and, she again felt nothing for him, as if her emotions were frozen inside a thick block of ice.

Then followed the galliard that was a long dance for athletic people, full of strenuous kicks and hops. Worried about his leg, Anne offered Henry not to dance, but he assured her that he would be fine, touched by her genuine care for him. As the tune played, they moved right and left, then again right and left, making leaps, jumps, hops, and other figures, leading all the couples on the dance floor and listening to lively music.

Anne could see a ravenous hunger in Henry's gaze. His tender aquamarine eyes caused her to envisage the summer sky that was a brilliant blue with only a few clouds on the horizon; they were full of kindness, devotion, and desire. No, she would not allow Henry to tie her to him with chains of love once more! The inner voice said to her that the old days were irrevocably gone, and a horrible blankness inundated her mind. Anne Boleyn and Henry Tudor changed: they no longer were the young king who had fallen in love with his Perseverance and the young woman who had been pushed into the king's bed by her ambitious and greedy family.

As Anne and Henry gracefully moved across the great hall, the courtiers observed them in fascination. Even though the royal couple was not perfectly happy, there was no doubt that they looked stunning together. Anne and Henry had once been full of the frenetic fire burning in their hearts only for each other, and their love was like a divine and exotic flower in the courtly firmament. But now Anne Boleyn, known for her displays of passion and emotion, was looking at Henry with such chilliness that seasoned courtiers shook their heads in disbelief.

At this moment, when the king and his queen danced together, they looked like young Henry and Anne, but only at first glance. If one looked at them more carefully, they would see that Henry madly wanted Anne, an ecstatic yearning for her obvious in his eyes, but she didn't reciprocate his sentiments. The queen's expression was detached, her smile was distant, and her eyes were not blazing with the molten intensity of sensual lava flowing through her being.

Most of the courtiers were in an elated mood, laughing as they whirled in dances, gossiping in the corners of the chamber, or playing cards at the tables lined along the walls. Yet, in spite of the carefree atmosphere, they still felt the intense unhealthy tension between the king and his queen, who were being watched by the envious Jane Seymour. But the smell of wine, the sounds of music, and the hubbub of voices were so intoxicating that overshadowed everything.

Anne turned sideways from him, and Henry followed her, careful not to break eye contact with her. He was puzzled as to why Anne didn't react to his smiles and compliments in the way she had done before. His wife was courteous, but she was too reserved, and he didn't understand the reason for these unwelcome changes in Anne. Henry believed that he knew Anne very well, but now he was no longer sure of his ability to uncover the secrets hidden in her eyes. It must be the mysterious air about Anne and the curiosity about her unusual behavior that made him want her with a ferocity that caused him to feel raw, untamed, and powerful, mused Henry.

As the galliard was over, Henry stepped to Anne and took her hand in his. Gazing into her eyes, he found himself in the grip of powerful emotions and memories. "My own sweetheart, I am in the best of moods tonight, and I feel so alive! Do you want me to ask our musicians to play the Volté?" His voice was a silky murmur, and one side of his mouth was lifted in a half-smile.

An internally reluctant Anne complied, "We will do what Your Majesty wishes."

Henry was at a loss for words for a split second; he didn't expect obedience from Anne. "I want to dance the Volté with you, Anne," he repeated.

"Then let's dance," she acquiesced, and a benign smile lit up her visage. She masterfully controlled her emotions, and it was impossible to guess the true meaning of her expression.

A startled silence fell as Anne and Henry froze in the middle of the chamber, looking at each other. Henry longed to see a sparkle of the fervent passion in his wife's eyes, but there was only peculiar sweetness and nostalgia in those blue pools. Anne's dark charm was alluring and overpowering, and all that Henry wished was for their bodies to merge together. He was also angry as he was in uncharted territory: she didn't react to his words in a familiar way.

Rage lurking in his aquamarine eyes, Henry gripped her forearm. "Anne, what is going on?" he questioned stringently. "Are you all right?"

Anne smiled brightly, her face a cameo of innocence. "I am the most happy, Your Majesty."

His gaze slid along the elegant line of her throat, and he noticed a pulse tick furiously there, which convinced him that she still had emotions for him. "Darling, what is it?"

She looked uncomfortable as she fumbled for an answer. "Finally, I have understood my role in your life." She was irritated that he wanted to rekindle their passion.

"Good, my queen. I have to say that I am surprised you have become so obedient to me."

"I do as Your Majesty commands," answered Anne, her voice without inflection. "You have always been incredibly skilled at teaching your wives various lessons."

Her statement irked him to the core. She hinted at the treatment of Catherine and Mary in the past, as well as at his threats to her. "You should better think before you speak," he warned.

Anne ignored his outburst of anger. "Does Your Majesty still wish to dance?"

Henry regained his composure, and his lips split into a grin. "Of course, my queen." He ran his eyes across the banqueting hall and announced, "We will dance. Play the Volté."

The queen read his lascivious thoughts without difficulty. Perhaps Anne would be trapped by the king in a web of sensual desire in the dead of night when he would kiss her thoroughly while his arms would cradle her next to him. Maybe she would be giddy with the emotions flooding her body when they would become one. But at this very moment, the harrowing reality for her was such that she didn't want to dance with Henry, and a strong feeling of revulsion for him was a certain unpleasant novelty to her. In any case, Anne could not tell Henry the whole truth; she would have to pretend, and then she would have to further bolster the pretending by not acknowledging to herself that she was pretending.

§§§

A startled silence reigned in the great hall, and every pair of eyes was attached to the king and the queen. The courtiers didn’t anticipate that Henry would want to dance the Volté with his wife because everyone thought that the king’s passion for Anne Boleyn had already cooled off in spite of the birth of Prince William. Now they watched in awe Henry extend his left arm to Anne and lead her in a dance.

The Volté was a passionate and energetic dance that was considered shamelessly obscene, lewd and unchaste by many moralists of the Renaissance time because of suggestive embrace and revealing glimpses of feminine legs, despite the attempts of a dancing woman to keep her flying skirts down. It was the dance that had presumably originated at the Provencal court of southeastern France in the end of the 11th and in the 12th centuries when troubadours had been developing their concept of courtly love. It was the dance for spirited and passionate natures like Anne Boleyn and Henry Tudor.

The musicians began to play, and the dance began like the traditional Galliard. Henry and Anne began to move graciously and swiftly, their feet sliding across the floor easily, without any shuffling noises, as they engaged themselves into dancing figures. Henry advanced forward and made a 3/4 turn over their left shoulder, to end in front of his starting position and facing right. With the mischievous glint in her blue eyes, Anne hopped up and then set herself into a 3/4 turn to face him again as she moved forward. They did the same several more times.

As they danced, Henry’s aquamarine eyes always held the gaze of Anne’s deep blue eyes. Henry sighed sorrowfully that Anne’s expression remained dispassionate, but he was relieved to see a spark of life and passion in her eyes, as well as a mischievous and playful twinkle. Henry remembered how they had danced the Volté many months ago in front of many other lords and ladies on the night when Prince William had been conceived, which had been the night of a whirlwind of Passion and of mad love. Now they were again dancing the Volté, but something was different: the dark blue flame blazed up in Anne’s blue eyes, but the flame was muted and there was no abiding passion between them.

The Duke of Wilshire and the Duke of Norfolk watched Anne and Henry step forward to each other; they were smiling with smiles betokened satisfaction, already anticipating that Henry would be intimate with Anne tonight. Mary and William Stafford stood in a frank and affectionate embrace; they both were pleased to see Anne with Henry together. The longer the dance continued, the paler Jane Seymour looked, her hands slightly shaking as nervousness and jealousy overcame her. Mary Tudor stood next to Jane, torn between the feelings of happiness that Anne Boleyn had been humiliated by her father’s infidelities with Jane and the feeling of worry that Jane could lose her hold over Henry. The Seymours also looked as though they had wished to be anywhere but not in the banqueting hall.

Then the Galliard sequence in the dance followed. Anne and Henry made several swing changes, each of which ended with a cadenza and then new turns, and Henry watched Anne with interest during all that time. They made several steps and finished a transition to a closed position, facing one another again. Then they made a turn with forward steps and then stepped with the same foot in the same line. As they made more small steps, springing onto the outside foot and lifting the inside foot forward, Henry again didn’t feel the heightening of the old sensuous passion between them: Anne was dancing very proficiently, but there was no fire in her vivacious dance.

Anne sprang up as Henry propelled her into the air. As she jumped, nearly mechanically, her eyes met with Henry’s, and, this time, there was the blue flame in her eyes, burning Henry’s heart with desire for him. But it was a short moment of their intimacy when the king could see the turbulent depth in his queen’s eyes which enraptured him and made him wish to be alone with her, in their bedchamber. He was sure that Anne wanted him desperately at that moment, every inch of her flesh burning with the need to touch him. Yet, unexpectedly for Henry, the all-absorbing passion and great sensuality in Anne’s eyes were replaced with cold sweetness.

King Henry and Queen Anne were observed by everybody in the banqueting hall. Jane Seymour feared that the king’s passion for Anne Boleyn would ignite again. Mary Tudor, who approached Jane while her father danced, also looked quite displeased. Thomas Boleyn, Thomas Howard, and George Boleyn were smiling broadly and jovially, pleased to see that the king showed such a deep interest in Anne. The Seymour fraction, including Charles Brandon and his wife, didn’t smile and wore dark expressions. A large, almost airy smile manifested on Thomas Wyatt’s face, for the poet hoped that the king would probably start treating his queen as she deserved.

The king and the queen repeated 3/4 turns several more times, and then the Galliard was resumed again in an open position. As last, the dance was over. Henry made a mannered, low bow to Anne, and she sank into a deep, entrancing curtsey, the Boleyn curtsey, as it had been often called by envious noblewomen because only Anne could curtsey in this manner. With the last sound of music, a thunder of applauses hung over the room as the courtiers praised the performance of their King and Queen.

Henry slowly brought Anne’s hand to his mouth. “It was so beautiful,” he whispered.

Anne chuckled. “Me or the dance?”

“You and the dance.” His voice was husky.

“We both dance rather well,” she drawled, feeling a little dazed.

Henry smiled slowly. "We have once danced the Volté, and we conceived William on that night,” he said, stretching out an arm to indicate the richness and overcrowding of the chamber. “But there are too many people here to do what I want to do to you right now, Anne.”

Anne met his eyes, feeling a strange, unfamiliar sensation as if both fire and ice were filling her veins. She didn’t feel thrilled to be alone with him, suddenly wishing to escape from him with great urgency. But she was the Queen of England and Henry was her king and her husband, so there was nowhere to go. All the women at the court were easy for Henry, and he could take anyone whom he wanted, without thinking of consequences and of the hurt he had been causing Anne before she became indifferent to his endless myriad of liaisons. Henry was still quite young, his features were handsome, his smile sensual, but she didn’t want him with the same desperation she had wanted him before.

The queen decided on boldness, playing a game of a devoted and loving wife. “If you wish to be alone with me, it can always be arranged. Do you want us to leave now, Henry?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his heart pounding harder.

“Then we should go," she said, licking her lips lusciously.

Soon King Henry and Queen Anne were finally alone in the queen’s chambers. As soon as they entered the bedchamber, with a wave of a hand, Anne dismissed all her ladies–in–waiting who smiled at her, their expressions amazed to see the king at the queen’s side. The ladies didn’t remember when they had seen Henry in Anne’s chambers last time, and now they hoped that the relations between their mistress and their King would probably improve if the king had wanted Anne back into his bed.

Henry and Anne stood, looking into each other’s eyes, as if they were mesmerized, their silhouettes shadowed against the background of the whitewashed wall lit by the candlelight and by the moonlight.

Henry was the first to break the spell. He approached Anne and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to himself. She laughed at him and he laughed back. His arms tightened around her, and he bent his head down, crushing his lips on hers. They stood kissing hungrily for a long, long time, frozen in the same position, hearing accelerated heartbeat and labor breathing of each other. Then Henry lowered his head and started kissing the side of Anne’s neck, his lips hot, sliding enticingly over her alabaster skin. Anne moaned in pleasure, putting her hands on his chest.

Henry lifted his mouth from hers. He looked at her flushed face, his eyes taking in the sight of her damp, swollen, tender lips. “I love you, Anne,” he said in a throaty voice. “I love you so much.”

Anne blinked her eyes. She was still filled with the warmth and taste of him, but her heart didn’t pound in heavenly delight at his love confession as it had always happened to her earlier. Instead, Anne was shaking, wanting to wipe his touch away. She didn’t want to be with him in the same room, and she would have slammed a fist into his face if he hadn’t been the King of England. But she would continue keeping her true emotions to herself. Henry had somehow made certain already that she would never be able to get over the heartbreak and humiliation he had already caused her, ever.

“I love you too, Henry,” she said frantically, though she didn’t know whether it was true or not.

Henry smiled with a large, brilliant smile, feeling as if he were in utter bliss. “Anne, you and I are a beautiful, spellbinding young people. The two of us make the most handsome royal couple. You are so lovely and so enigmatic, and I always want to unveil your mysteries. We are both like Gods.” He took her hand and brought it to his face. She trembled as he moved her palm over the contours of his face, and kissed it. “What beautiful children we will create together! Our children will preside over Empires and will glorify the Tudor dynasty!”

Anne Boleyn stared at her husband a long while. His eyes seemed black with passion, his expression was lustful. Her jaw clenched, and she was unable to respond at first. Henry was again thinking of the children she could give him, most likely of the Duke of York whom he craved to have to further secure the line of succession. She also wanted to have a second son, and she was committed to give Henry another child now when Doctor Linacre finally permitted her to have an intercourse with her husband. But Henry’s obsession with having male heirs was driving her to insanity.

“Come to me, sweetheart. There has to be some show now.”

She needed only close her eyes, and her senses would remember the old love, she persuaded herself. She felt Henry unbutton the front of her gown, and she leaned into his touch. It didn't matter that she no longer wanted to be closer to him than she was in the throne room because she needed to conceive again and because now she could see his genuine affection for her again. Then she felt his hands on her back as he started unlacing her tight corset with expert movements of an impenitent womanizer who knew how to undress his lovers.

Anne opened her eyes and smiled at Henry. She trailed her fingers slowly up the front of his doublet. Then she began to unfasten the doublet and peeled it back. Her hand gripped the collar of his shirt, and she ripped the front of his shirt apart with such a great strength that Henry was caught off–guard. Henry’s eyes widened, but then he laughed at her, enjoying her caresses as she touched his smooth, bare chest and started tracing it with her fingertips, as if she were trying to realize whether he was real. She lowered her head and began kissing his jaw and his neck, her hands roaming over his body.

“Do you love it, Henry?” Anne inquired teasingly with a smile.

Henry smiled in delight. “You are too slow today, sweetheart.” His muscles tightened as she again touched his chest with her hand while she was placing sucking kisses down his neck.

She chucked to herself. “Do you want to make it quicker?”

“Feel free to seduce me in the way you wish,” he emboldened.

“Like on the night when we danced the Volté?” She sank to her knees before him and began unlacing his trousers, taking the initiative into her hands.

A loud groan erupted from Henry’s mouth. “Anne…”

“Yes, Henry,” she murmured as she leaped to her feet; she had undone his trousers.

“I want you so much, my queen.” Henry’s eyes were as deep and blue as a tempestuous sea, and the smile he offered her was an honest one, not touched with mockery, anger, or amusement.

Anne smiled. “I want you too.”

Henry brushed her lips with his kiss. He caught her palm, kissed its center, and then drew her hand down the length of him. She trembled all over in need for him, and he taunted her, “Ah, sweetheart, you have already touched me in this way many times. Such a region is vulnerable, and does not bite.”

Giving him a sly smile, she closed her fingers around the fullness of his manhood. “Henry, I may do to you much more delicious things than you can imagine,” she threatened in a jeering tone. “These things can steal your breath and even your soul, my king.”

“The prize is worth any fight with you, my love.”

Henry lifted Anne and carried her to the bed. She was still in her corset, and her gown was only half unfastened, while the remnants of his clothes were still clinging to his body. But it didn’t matter because he couldn’t wait any longer – he needed to take her now. He put her on the back, but she stood up and forced him to lie near her. Then she seated herself atop of him, leaning down, close to his face and planting short kisses on the lips, then pulling away and then doing the same. Unable to endure it anymore, Henry wanted to roll over, but she didn’t let him do that, giving him a lascivious smile.

“Anne, please,” Henry groaned as he pushed her back against the pillows. “I need you now.”

Smiling, she rose above him. “I know what you need, Henry.”

Anne gripped his shirt and completely ripped it off; then she drew the shirt up over his head and threw it away, on the floor. Henry raised her skirts and impaled her with one powerful movement. He began to move inside her, each of his thrusts deeper and more powerful. She was moving together with him, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, her head spinning, her skin heating up from the touches of skin to skin, flesh to flesh. She kissed him on the mouth with ever-growing, unsaturated hunger, with colossal intensity in one single kiss, and he responded with more desperation.

Anne and Henry almost drowned in the ocean of dark pleasure, moving almost wildly and trying to reach something beyond the border of the world they had ever known. Sitting atop of her husband and moving together with him, Anne could see his worshipful eyes, darkened by a desire for her, so dark that they seemed almost sacrilegious. She couldn’t deny that she loved the feeling of power it gave her, but the sensation was somehow pointless and there was _hollowness in her heart and soul_. Something had happened, and she escaped the hold he had once had over her, and now she could feel only physical hunger for him, the pressure of his body against hers.

Desire was etched in Henry’s features. “Your heart has stolen my soul tonight, sweetheart.”

“I did that a long time ago,” she asserted with devilish confidence, but it was fake confidence.

He shook his head, his eyes glassy. “Anne, you are in my blood,” he whispered. “I am going to lose my head and myself with ardent declarations of my desire for you.”

Henry didn't know how his emotions and desires had changed so swiftly in the time he was with Anne together, not with Jane or with his other mistress. There were moments when he was convinced that he had been entirely over Anne, but then something set the fire for her again. In such cases, his passion for her was overwhelming, and he thought that he would die for her because she was his life and was engraved in his heart forever. Even though there were times when Henry hated Anne, he knew that he would never forget her because she was the deadly poison dissolved in his bloodstream.

“Henry, you are my curse and my blessing,” she stated with conviction. Even though she felt that her love for Henry had been something ephemeral, nearly unreal, or even temporarily extinct, she was unable to forget Henrys’ face, his eyes and the way he had looked at her when he desired her and when he was furious, when she defied him and when she loved him.

Anne began to move with fierce turbulence; she clasped his throat with her right arm, staring into his eyes. Henry laughed at her and shut his eyes, luxuriating in the pleasurable sensations building inside his body. She lowered her head and cradled his head in her arms, taking his lips with hers. His fingers curled into her loose dark hair, and hoarse cries tumbled from his lips. Henry felt something exploding inside him at every touch of her lips to his, pleasure in his body growing.

She was kissing him and tasting him, touching him, and she felt that he was imprinting sensation upon his mind, but she couldn’t tell the same about herself. Instead of seeking emotional release, Anne was expressing all her pain, hurt, and lust in their coupling because there was no pure love she felt for him. Then she felt a wave of strong pleasure assaulting her, which coursed through her core, and she trembled all over. It was a tremendous pleasure, so dark and so devastating that she thought she would die of it. Next moment, she could feel Henry’s release and could hear his moan of pleasure.

Anne could hear Henry whisper her name with such love and devotion that it involuntarily touched a string in her heart. She threw her head back, feeling herself swooning after such a powerful release, but she didn’t whisper his name into the darkness. She shifted her body from his and collapsed on the other side of the bed, next to her husband’s warm and sweaty body. They lay listening to each other’s harsh breathing and to the sounds of their accelerated heartbeat in a complete silence.

Anne felt Henry’s arms go around her as he drew her to him. “I love you, Anne. You are amazing, and you made me so happy today,” he repeated his love confession again. Anne felt something shattering within her. Earlier his professions of love had brought her to a million shards of perfect light melting throughout her, to Heaven on Earth, but now she felt absolutely nothing of this kind.

Henry sighed in contentment. He had what he wanted – a young, beautiful, and dignified Queen and a young, sweet, and submissive mistress. He had two children with Anne – Elizabeth and William, whom he loved very much and for whom he would have done everything to protect their rights for the throne. Mary had signed the Oath, recognizing herself a bastard and him as the Head of the Church of England. And he was sure that he would have more legitimate children with Anne. Perhaps, Anne would conceive another child after this night, he dreamt. With these thoughts, Henry drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

But Anne wasn’t sleeping, watching the shallow rise of her husband’s chest as he breathed in and out. Henry didn’t love her as much as he had loved her many years ago, if he had ever been able to feel real and deep love for anyone except himself. That was obvious, but no longer painful, the queen thought. When she had looked at Henry before, she had an instinctive and deep-seated differential feeling that they had complementary features, mental, moral, and physical, which had made them so suitable for each other. But all these feelings had perished and had been replaced by indifference.

Anne smiled wryly into the darkness. Henry was so passionate in the bed with her tonight, and she also wanted him very much, but it was a purely physical need, nothing more. Now she felt nothing for him, and their lovemaking left her emotionally devastated. She reciprocated his passionate advances, and she pleased him in the bed so much that he had confessed his love for her multiple times in throes of passion. But the thought that Henry could still love her didn't make Anne happy, even content: instead, she simply felt empty because his love left her _hollow_ , and her happiness was _illusive_.

During many nights when Henry had been sleeping with Jane Seymour, Anne Boleyn had laid in her lonely and cold bed for hours, crying herself to sleep. She had dreamt that Henry would leave Jane and come back to her, lavishing her with his love. She had dreamt of what it would have been like to feel him beside her, to sleep in his arms, to feel the strength of his arms wrapped tightly around her, the warmth of his body and skin, his protection of her feelings and their love. But now, when Henry was so close to her, Anne was far from pleased, keenly aware of being alone and wretched.

Thomas Boleyn had once told Anne that she shouldn’t have fallen in love with Henry in order to control her emotions better, but she hadn’t believed that he had been right, knowing why her father had wanted her to be close to the king – to elevate the family’s position and accumulate power at the court. But Henry had taught her much in the moments when he had betrayed her with his numerous mistresses and when he had made Jane his _maîtresse-en-titre_. Now Anne believed that she should have listened to her father: she should have guarded her heart, not letting her family benefit from that but rather protecting herself from pain. She shouldn’t have fallen in love with Henry.

Queen Anne barely repressed a venomous laugh, afraid of waking up Henry. The realization dawned upon Anne – she no longer loved Henry Tudor. Henry had destroyed the great love she had once felt for him, and now they were tied to each other only by their marriage vows, their children, and their crowns. What a way to begin a new life to think that Henry no longer really loved her and that she no longer loved him! His love left her hollow and had already died – it was killed by Henry. Anne Boleyn of old times had died, and the new Anne Boleyn would have to feign her love for him.

Anne brought the sheets around herself as she shivered with the cold that she felt to Henry instead of the love she had once proclaimed for him. She shut her eyes, thinking what she should do next. She was furious at herself for feeling almost nothing out of her old affection for Henry, and she was also bizarrely hurt with the realization that she no longer loved him. But Anne could not bring herself to love Henry back even if he still loved her with a doomed, destructive, and selfish love.

Anne Boleyn would never love Henry Tudor again with the same deep, passionate, and sincere love as she had once loved him. Thinking about her relationship with Henry, she would come to the same conclusion over and over again – that she had fallen out of love with him at some point after the birth of their son William. She would never ever see Henry as her moral, mental, and physical complement.

Years would pass and nothing would change because Anne’s love for Henry ran out when he was constantly betraying their love with his numerous mistresses; many of Henry’s lovers would be the queen’s ladies-in-waiting and some of them even her relatives, like the young Lady Catherine Howard whom the aging monarch would take into his bed to feel himself again young and full of life. Anne Boleyn would never be happy with Henry Tudor in the way she had always dreamt of feeling after their marriage, but she would resign herself to her personal unhappiness for the sake of her children.

When Henry would be lavishing her with his caresses and endearments after kissing his mistresses an hour or a night before, Anne would often feel as if she were suddenly left lifeless, as if ice swept her veins, as if she were cold beyond death. She would call her love for King Henry and his love for her _a hollow love_ , and Henry’s affection for her would become like a cold breeze from the ocean at first and then like a chilly hurricane she would want to run away from. Henry would always think that Anne loved him as much as he loved her because Anne Boleyn would play her role very well, and she would give Henry two more sons and one daughter, making the king happy with his wife.

When Lady Mary Tudor would be leaving England after her marriage to Philip the Contentious, Duke of Palatinate-Neuburg, she would finally reconcile with her step-mother in a short, secret conversation, when the two women would agree that Henry had always been able to be bright, cheery, sensible, and loving, which attracted women to him, but that his love for each of them was _hollow_. Henry would never understand that the pain he had caused to his daughter Mary had killed something in the heart of the young and once very naïve lady; he would never realize the magnitude of damage he had caused to Anne in their marriage.

Princess Elizabeth Tudor, Anne’s beloved eldest daughter, would understand her mother’s sufferings in her marriage very well. Elizabeth would have a frank conversation with her mother about love and marriage before leaving England for France to marry Prince Charles de Valois: she would say to Anne that Henry’s love for all women was _illusive_. William Tudor, the Prince of Wales, would love the king very much and would have a close relationship with his father; but William would always resent his father for sleeping with his mother’s ladies-in-waiting and other noblewomen, feeling deeply sympathetic with Anne and admiring her stoic tolerance of Henry’s despicable behavior. Anne’s other children would be displeased that their father had always betrayed their mother with Jane Seymour and with his other lovers, parading them in public. 

Lady Jane Seymour, the Duchess of Dover in her own right, would remain the king’s _maîtresse-en-titre_ until Henry’s death, but nobody of their three illegitimate children would live to adulthood. Jane would have great complications during her third pregnancy, and her infant son would die in her arms after difficult labor. Doctor Linacre would give a verdict that Jane would never conceive again, but Henry wouldn’t care about that and would keep Jane as his grand favorite. There would always be three people in the marriage of King Henry and Queen Anne, with Jane Seymour standing between Henry and Anne. Years later, Anne would take her revenge against Henry’s beloved mistress when Anne’s son William would banish each member of the Seymour family from the court permanently, confiscating all the estates which Henry granted to his lover’s family as a sign of his affection for his mistress.

The love of King Henry for Anne Boleyn would always be _a doomed love_ , _a hollow love_ , as she began to call her husband’s feelings for her and for all women whom he had ever liked and bedded. Henry’s love and their marriage would make Anne’s heart _hollow_ , and hollowness would disappear only on the day when her royal husband would pass away peacefully in his sleep and her son William would be crowned the King of England, becoming King William III of England. In spite of all the pain, heartache, and emptiness hidden in her wounded but cold heart, Anne Boleyn would never regret that she had married Henry Tudor because _a hollow_ _love_ had been worthy of her eldest son inheriting the crown of England and because greatness always has its price, even if this price can be very high.


End file.
